Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel)

chapter 16




Sam couldn’t summon a reply, couldn’t even catch her breath. Gazing into his eyes, warmed by his touch, she felt as if she had been swept up into the night sky, spinning among white-hot stars.

Everything seemed to be whirling around her, changing so quickly, leaving her scrambling for something solid to hold on to. But all she could find within herself were new, undefined feelings, too tentative, too fragile for her to depend upon.

Feelings for this man. For a stranger who now knew all of her secrets.

But he wasn’t a stranger anymore.

Nick.

She had shared with him memories and pain that she had never shared with anyone. And as he held her so carefully, his broad hands cupping her face so lightly, she chastised herself for being ten kinds of a fool. How could she have told him everything? Why had she trusted him?

She had every reason to feel wary of this man. Any sensible woman would. He was an outlaw. A rogue who knew too little of kindness, too much of fighting and recklessness and the hard edges of life. Sitting so close beside him, feeling the heat of his body against hers, she felt an uncomfortable shift in the rhythm of her heartbeat.

The hard, muscular planes of his body, his numerous scars, the pitchfork brand all bespoke a life of harshness and danger. He seemed to be made entirely of steel, corded lengths of steel wrapped around iron. As hard and unyielding as the chain that bound the two of them together. A man crafted from and for violence.

Yet he was capable of gentleness, too. And compassion.

She had experienced that herself.

And he awaited her answer. Would she grant him an intimacy she had never granted any man?

Drawing an unsteady breath, she closed her eyes, unable to bear the heat in his gaze and her own uncertainty. She had no need to fear that he might lose control over his unpredictable male hunger. He was clearly in complete control of himself, as he had been all along.

It was her own reactions that alarmed her.

“Nick,” she whispered, “I... I haven’t been entirely honest.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He wasn’t mocking her; his voice was serious.

“It’s true.” She opened her eyes, swallowing hard. “When I said I was still a little afraid of you, it’s... it’s not you that I’m afraid of.” Confessing brought a cascade of heat to her cheeks. “It’s me.”

He smiled as if he understood. “What is there to be afraid of, Samantha?”

“Well, when you... kissed me, I felt so...” She struggled to find words for what she had experienced, felt embarrassed by the memory. Her senses had simply scattered to the winds at the first brush of his lips over hers.

“As if you were hot and cold at the same time?” he murmured, kissing her again, the lightest touch of his mouth this time. “And hungry and thirsty all at once?” He kissed her a third time.

“Yes.” The word came out as a sigh, her lashes drifting downward as she experienced the same breathless, almost dizzy sensation she had felt before. “It’s like a ticklish flutter in my stomach. And—” Another kiss interrupted her explanation. “A funny ache in my throat.”

“And you feel as if you’re melting?...” His hand moved lower, touching her abdomen, his fingers burning her. “Here?”

Her eyes opened wide. “Yes,” she gasped, feeling something powerful unfurl within her, there where he touched her.

“That’s all part of it, angel.” He brushed a kiss through her hair. “Part of every woman and man, part of you. And me.”

The deep, husky tone of his voice sent shivers through her. She gazed at him, felt as if she were seeing him for the first time, found herself noticing things she had never noticed before—the way his beard emphasized the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the deep creases at the corners of his eyes, a small scar on his temple, the stubborn tangle of hair that fell over his forehead.

And his eyes. They held hers the way his hands caressed her cheeks—boldly but gently. Staring into his dark green gaze, she sought any hint of deception but found none. “You mean that you feel these same feelings?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him askance, barely able to believe it. In the pool, in his embrace, she had felt herself very close to losing control... yet he seemed so in command of himself.

“Whenever you’re close to me,” he explained when she didn’t speak. “Whenever you touch me... especially the way you did in the cave.”

“Th-that was purely for medical purposes.”

“I didn’t see a cloth in your hand that last time,” he chided, flashing a particularly wicked smile. “You seemed to be enjoying it.”

She dropped her gaze, mortified.

“It’s all right, angel.” He caught her chin on the edge of his hand, tilting her head up. “It’s all right to enjoy touching each other.”

“I-I don’t... I...” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

“You think you shouldn’t enjoy it?”

Was that the reason? For six years, she had lived her own life by her own rules, going and doing as she pleased. The word shouldn’t had become a part of her past the day she became an outlaw. After so much time on her own, she was used to being in charge of her life, her fate, her feelings. She had come to like being in control.

But now it felt as if her confidence had vanished, as if she didn’t even know herself anymore. Nick was no longer a stranger, but now she seemed like a stranger to herself.

Even her fear, her wariness, her caution, so much a part of her for so long, was... missing.

She felt like the earth had disappeared from beneath her and she was falling, tumbling through the night.

And the only solid thing she had to hold onto was... him.

“Nick, I don’t know. It’s... so...”

“New. It’s all new to you, angel. But it’s a natural part of who you are. You’re meant to enjoy it, just as you enjoy the moonlight and the wind.” He smiled. “Maybe more.” He leaned closer, nuzzling his cheek against hers, his beard sending a little shiver through her. “Let me show you.”

She made a small sound deep in her throat, but even she couldn’t tell if it was denial or assent.

“We won’t do anything that frightens you,” he assured her. “If you want me to stop, tell me and I’ll stop. If you want me to continue...” He brushed his lips over hers. “Tell me and I’ll continue.”

She was trembling, but the feeling wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all. His mouth felt so warm, his hands so strong, so sure when he touched her.

And he was leaving the decision up to her. She had thought him a callous, unredeemable, selfish rogue... but at the moment he wasn’t being roguish at all. He was being warm, giving.

Caring.

And that, even more than his kiss, made her heart pound so hard that thinking became impossible.

“Samantha?”

“Yes,” she whispered, realizing that her decision had been made perhaps a long time ago. “Yes.”

She barely completed the word when he kissed her again, a soft brush of his mouth over hers that deepened into a slow, hot joining. His arm circled her shoulders and he gently lowered her to the ground, leaning over her in the firelight, his weight on his forearms as his mouth worked tantalizing magic over hers.

She had never known how sensitive her lips could feel. Or how fast her pulse could race. She reached up to pull him closer, threading her fingers through the dark hair at the nape of his neck. With a low groan, he captured her wrists, lightly pinning them to the ground on either side of her head.

Understanding what he wanted, she relented, allowing him to take command, letting herself surrender control. Stretched out beneath him on the warm grass, she felt the last of her hesitation burn to ashes in the fire of his kiss. She let go willingly, allowing herself to be completely open to his touch, completely vulnerable in a way she had never been before.

Her display of trust brought a soft sound from him, almost a sigh, a sound of deep pleasure. He lifted his mouth from hers, kissing her jaw, her cheeks, her nose. And when her eyelids drifted closed, he kissed her lashes.

“That’s right, angel,” he whispered. “Close your eyes and just let yourself feel.”

He released his hold on her wrists, his hands sliding down her arms, down the sides of her body. Through the thin cloth of her silk gown, she could feel him like a fire in her blood. He nibbled at her ear, began a slow, teasing descent down her throat, his lips and tongue sending a rush of sensations cascading through her.

He caught her skin ever so delicately between his teeth, nipping her in a light, fierce way that drew a cry of pleasure from her parted lips. Arching her neck, she offered herself up to him, to these new feelings that made her feel weak and yet strong all at once.

The night air around her, the leaves overhead, even the ground beneath her seemed to crackle with electricity. Like the heat of a lightning strike. Like a summer storm that drenched the earth with hot rain.

Her heart pounding, she kept her eyes closed as her senses came vibrantly alive, engulfed by his musky, masculine scent, the hardness of his body. By his fingers tracing over her, leaving tendrils of fire in their wake. One of his hands shaped her breast and she tensed, but only for a moment.

Because his touch was tender, careful, almost reverent. She could feel the peak drawing tight beneath his thumb, caught her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from crying out. The barrier of silk and lace between his skin and hers created a dozen different, exquisite textures. A restless heat began building deep within her. He traced his thumb around her nipple in a slow circle, coaxing until it rose to a hard pearl, and her breathing became ragged.

When his hand left her, a low moan of protest slipped from her throat. But then he slid her gown from her shoulder, slowly, inch by tantalizing inch, tugging the lacy bodice lower... baring her to the warm night wind.

And she felt his rough, callused fingertips against her skin, touching her in a way no man had ever touched her before. Her lashes lifted but she managed to remain still, trusting him, her palms upturned on the warm grass. Breathless, she watched him. Watched his dark fingers moving over her, caressing the pale swell of her breast.

And the intimacy felt not threatening but glorious.

His eyes were ablaze as he gazed down at her. His every muscle taut, he stretched out beside her, his own breathing rough. It was only then that she realized how powerfully this simple act of touching her affected him. He wanted her. Wanted to do more than kiss her and touch her—but he was holding himself in check. Denying his own need, his own pleasure.

For her.

She closed her eyes again, not wanting him to see the tears that welled there, not wanting him to misunderstand. His generosity, his tenderness, surprised her utterly... and touched her deeply.

A second later he rendered all rational thought impossible as his mouth followed the path his fingers had blazed. His tongue found the sensitive pearl he had coaxed forth, darting out to tease it again and again. When the peak was wet, tight, his lips hovered over her and he blew softly, dragging a low cry from her throat. She arched beneath him, shivering. Wanting. Every part of her ached, both where he kissed and lower.

And then his arm slid behind her back and he drew her up against him, drew her in tight as his mouth closed over her in the most shocking kiss. He took her deeply into the warm, liquid velvet of his mouth and the feeling was like... hot rain.

Some hidden, secret part of her, at the very center of her being, trembled and tightened in response as he lavished attention on her, kissing and teasing, gentle and fierce by turns. She felt as if she were soaring, swept upward to a dizzying height she had never experienced before. The sensation was so new, so intense, so unbearably good.

She gave herself over to it, lost in the sensations, her senses so scattered that she barely felt it as he lowered her back to the ground, didn’t realize he had moved his hand.

Until she felt the heat of his fingers on her thigh.

Her breath broke. She trembled beneath him, sensing that she had barely begun to taste the intimacy he meant to share with her. His palm slid downward in a slow caress, seeking the hem of her skirt. Finding it.

And then the sound of silk in his grasp, sliding upward, baring her calf, her knee, her thigh, seemed louder than the crackle of the fire.

“Samantha?” he whispered, his voice odd, rough.

She opened her eyes, not understanding his question, until she realized that she had her legs pressed tightly together.

“Do you want me to continue?”

She couldn’t answer for a moment, struck by the tension in him—the knotted muscles of his arm around her back, the sheen of sweat on his bare chest, the strain etched in every line of his body, his face.

“Yes.” Unable to resist, she lifted her hand to stroke his bearded cheek, her heart thundering. “Oh, yes.”

He trembled, actually trembled, at the light contact of her fingertips. “Samantha, please.” He choked out an oath. “Don’t.”

“You don’t want me to touch you?”

“No, that’s not—” As she moved her fingers lower, along the corded muscles of his neck, he groaned. “Oh, God.”

“I like touching you.”

“But this time is just for you, angel.” He grabbed for her hand and lightly pressed her arm back to the ground beside her head. “You can...” His breathing was so harsh in his throat, it sounded as if he were in pain. “You can touch me later.”

He didn’t give her a chance to argue, stealing her words and her breath with another deep kiss. Then she felt his hand on her hip, sliding her skirt out of the way.

She felt no fear, no resistance, no hesitation. As easily as his fingers had parted the silk and lace of her gown, his tenderness had parted the defenses around her heart. She trusted him. She was safe with him.

Safe.

In that moment she realized she had been a fool to think that safety would ever lie in being alone, in living apart from the world. This was what she needed. To share, to trust, to hold and be held. This feeling of being cherished and sheltered... in this man’s arms.

She parted her lips and deepened the kiss, welcoming the slow, languid penetration of his tongue. Liquid heat poured through her, flowing into her heart, her body. She felt as if she were made entirely of sun-heated water, of melting honey. His fingers traced along her thigh in slow circles as he waited for her, patient, letting her decide.

And with a soft, deep sound of acceptance, she relaxed, letting her thighs part, feeling no more need to guard any of her secrets from him.

He lifted his mouth from hers, nuzzled her cheek. “Yes,” he whispered in her ear, brushing his fingers along the inside of her thigh. “Open for me, sweetheart... that’s right.”

He sought and found that most feminine center of her being, touching her so gently, so softly. She felt as if she’d been struck by a bolt of white-hot lightning, felt a liquid heat flowing forth to meet his hand, as if his touch filled her with so much light, warmth, life, that her body became a cascade of fire.

She cried out his name, her hips lifting from the ground as a new, almost violent wanting twisted through her. He stroked her with exquisite care, his fingertips unfolding the soft petals that concealed her innermost core, finding the hot flow of honey within.

“Sweet angel,” he rasped.

She was writhing beneath him now, swept up in a whirlwind of sensation, of yearning. Even as she knew she couldn’t bear any more, he found a small bud within those damp curls, teasing it lightly with his thumb. A pulsing wave of pleasure rocked her entire body. Her breath broke on a ragged cry.

He stroked that swollen, sensitive part of her, again and again, until she thought she would go mad. The wanting, the tension wound so tight she knew she would shatter and did not care. It was a wildness. An all-consuming need. Tendrils of fire that lashed her with sweet torment. But the more she ached for his touch, the more lightly he grazed the delicate bud, building an unbearable excitement and longing within her. She wanted... wanted...

His mouth covered hers and he kissed her again in that spellbinding way, a slow stroke of his tongue against hers, like hot velvet, matching the glide of his fingers below as they slipped inside her. She moaned, shivering with shock and pleasure at the fierce, gentle claiming. The tension spun tighter, faster, winding through her. His thumb whisked over the swollen bud, urging her onward, lifting her beyond earth, higher—

Suddenly all the tendrils of fire snapped at once.

A wordless cry of revelation and release tore from her throat. She was shuddering, falling through the heavens, through a drenching shower of flame, her entire body shattered in ecstasy just as the sun broke through the trees.

The first light of dawn bathed her and she was floating down... down through the clouds, utterly spent, more alive than she had ever been. She felt like the light itself, hot, clear, new. Felt as free as the wind, soaring over all the earth.

She didn’t come back to herself until she felt the sun warming her face, wasn’t sure how long she had lain trembling in his arms. Opening her eyes, she blinked, half-expecting to find herself still floating through the clouds with angels.

Instead she was here on earth.

With her dark angel.

He looked down at her with a smile, eyes sparkling, and she noticed a softness in his expression that she had never seen before.

Her heart beating too fast, she smiled up at him, wanting to touch him as he had touched her, to learn every texture, every taste, every breath of him. To wrap her arms around him and hold him close.

But she felt strangely sleepy, her body heavy. “Nick, I—”

He stole her words with a kiss. “Shh, Samantha, don’t try to understand it. Just let yourself feel it.”

With a drowsy murmur of assent, she closed her eyes and leaned into him as he settled back against one of the trees. She wanted nothing more at the moment than to stay right here, with him. It seemed so natural, to fall asleep with her head pillowed on his chest. So comfortable.

So perfect.

This wasn’t how she had expected the day to end at all, she thought, smiling sleepily.

Then again, nothing had been as she expected from the moment she met Nick James.

~ ~ ~

The afternoon sun beat down on Nicholas’s bare shoulders as they trudged alongside the river. He had finally abandoned the tattered, blood-stained remains of his shirt. Samantha had used what was left of the sheet to wrap a bandage around his chest, covering the brand. It would have to do for now.

They had been on the move for hours, heading upstream, figuring that their pursuers—if they were still anywhere in Cannock Chase—would be focusing their search downstream. He wanted to get to a town as quickly as possible. He had five days left to make it to York, which meant he had to do two things as quickly as possible. One, get a horse.

Two, get free of the lovely lady at his side.

A thought which no longer held any appeal.

He shook his head in amazement. Just days ago, he had wanted nothing but to get away from Samantha Delafield. But now the idea of being separated from her brought a peculiar ache to his chest. One that had nothing to do with the sensual torture he had endured this morning, the arousal still running through his blood like a river of fire.

He had never experienced this strange... longing before. He rubbed at his chest, wishing he could wipe away the feeling as easily as he brushed off the perspiration that dotted his skin.

The chain caught on a root and he stumbled.

He recovered before he could fall, but Samantha caught his arm. “Are you sure you’re strong enough to keep going?”

“I’m fine.”

She let go of him at once.

Realizing he had snapped at her, he repeated it more gently. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but he wasn’t about to explain that it hadn’t been physical weakness that tripped him, but thoughts of her.

Which was becoming a weakness in itself. As she looked up at him, as their gazes met and held, a blush suffused her cheeks. He couldn’t help smiling. She had been blushing all day, every time she glanced at him. Reaching out, he touched her face. She smiled shyly, her lashes sweeping downward. He would have sworn he saw a shiver go through her.

“It seems I’ve put a permanent smile on your face,” he said wickedly, enjoying the way his teasing made her color deepen. He lightly caressed her cheek. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, angel.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, raising her chin.

Her reaction pleased him. He saw no trace of shame or regret in her eyes. She had embraced passion the same way she embraced all of life. Simply and completely. With warmth and enthusiasm and her whole heart.

She kept surprising him with her conflicting facets, each more intriguing than the last. Miss Samantha Delafield was a woman of delicate sensibilities and steely strength. A refined lady and a talented thief. A sweet innocent who could unabashedly enjoy her sensuality.

Before he knew what he was doing, Nicholas bent his head and kissed her. Her mouth met his warmly, softly. Already she was learning to kiss him back, meeting his passion with her own. His hands came up to her shoulders and he pulled her close. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He had known so little tenderness in his life and she had so much to give, shared it so willingly, that he drank it in like a man cast adrift.

His lips molded to hers and her sweet feminine fire seared him, sending a riot of sensations through him. His response to her seemed to grow stronger every time he touched her.

Abruptly he lifted his head, his body taut, his heart pounding. “You are dangerous, lady.”

He said it with a grin, kept his tone light, but knew he was only half-joking.

She was breathing as hard as he was, her eyes a deep, molten gold. “Are you going to keep your word later?” A mysterious smile played at one corner of her mouth.

“My word?” he echoed, confused.

“You said I could touch you,” she reminded him softly, “later.”

Nicholas felt her voice flow through him like a potent draught of whiskey, felt as if every nerve ending in his body had just been set alight. “Right,” he choked out at last. “I did, didn’t I?” Desperately trying to think of a way to back out of that agreement, he turned her away from him, still holding her by the shoulders, and nudged her forward. “But right now, we need to keep our minds on the trouble we’re in, or else we’re going to find ourselves back in gaol. Or worse.”

She flashed him a look over her shoulder and started off, leading the way.

Following behind her, he tried to gather up the scrambled pieces of his reason. Which was bloody difficult. Especially when she looked at him as she just had—with a glance that held sweet sensual promise, eyes that shimmered with...

He didn’t know what to call it. Didn’t want to think about it. Tried to put it out of his mind.

Later. He felt his gut twist into a knot tighter than a Spanish bowline hitch.

No. Absolutely not. There would be no later.

Nicholas frowned. Until this morning, he had been convinced there would be nothing wrong with taking his pleasure of her and then taking his leave. Why should she be different from any other woman he had known? It wasn’t as if he’d never had a virgin before. He’d sent more than one maiden on her way with a few new skills in her feminine arsenal and a smile on her face. Never had he hesitated in bedding a willing lady.

Until now. Until Samantha. It seemed important to him, somehow, to protect her innocence. To avoid taking the treasure she offered.

That was a first for Captain Nicholas Brogan, he thought with a rueful twist to his mouth—protecting a treasure instead of taking it.

No one would ever believe it.

He watched her walking just ahead of him, infinitely fascinated by the way she moved, the way her hair caught the light. He couldn’t puzzle out his reasons, but he intended their first moment of physical intimacy this morning to be their last.

He didn’t dare trust himself to touch her that way a second time, to hold her lush, naked body in his arms and not take her.

His gaze lingered over her, his thoughts drifting back to the glade. He still could not believe what had happened between them. Not the way she had responded to him so perfectly. That didn’t surprise him.

No, what baffled him was that her dazzling release had been as pleasurable for him as it had been for her—even though he had been in torment, raked by need, longing to bury himself in her depths. It had taken every ounce of will he possessed not to claim her. She had been like melted honey in his arms, yielding, open, ready. And he had restrained himself.

It had been the first time he’d ever given pleasure without taking some in return. And it had made him feel unbelievably... good. More than good.

Happy.

He shook his head, reminding himself that more pressing matters required his attention. Matters of life and death. He needed to concentrate. York. The blackmailer. Five days left.

Less than five days.

Damn it, Brogan, concentrate.

They kept walking, each lost in their own thoughts, the forest passing by in a monotonous parade of tree after tree, branch after branch, evergreen after evergreen.

The afternoon sun slanted low through the canopy of leaves when he thought he heard a sound up ahead.

“Wait a moment.” He stopped Samantha, coming up to stand beside her. “What’s that noise?”

They both stood still, listening. The wind carried the sound toward him: voices.

“Bloody hell.” Grabbing her, he darted into the underbrush.

“Who do you think they are?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer, knew what they were both thinking. Lawmen.

But the sound didn’t grow louder. Whoever it was, they apparently weren’t moving. And he heard no dogs or horses.

And some of the voices were undeniably feminine. “I’m not sure,” he whispered. “Care to take a closer look?”

She nodded. They crept forward, cautiously, staying within the shadows of the trees.

A few yards further on, they could see them: a group of people camped in a clearing ahead.

Nicholas stopped and slipped behind the broad trunk of an oak, pulling Samantha with him. Cautiously, he peered around the curve of the tree, wishing he had a spyglass.

He could hear her breathing rapidly. “If they aren’t lawmen,” she hissed, “then who are they? Who else would venture into Cannock Chase?”

He studied the camp. There were at least forty people—men, women, and children. Travelers of some sort. Their camp was made up of a motley assortment of carts and wagons, many brightly painted.

“Gypsies,” he said at last. Outcasts, like all the other people who sought sanctuary in this forest.

Samantha seemed to relax. “We should probably go before any of them see us.”

“Not so fast, angel.” He was still studying the camp. Where there were carts, there were bound to be horses.

After a moment, Samantha made a sniffing sound. “Can you smell that?” She crowded in beside him to get a better view, inhaling deeply of the wind. “Oh, I wonder what they’re cooking.”

The spicy scent made his stomach growl. “Some kind of stew.” There was a large cookfire at the center of the circle of wagons, and a pair of women were tending a black iron pot suspended over the flames.

But even more tempting to him were the horses. He spotted them on the far side of the camp, about two dozen of them, picketed at the edge of the clearing.

He smiled. “How careless of them to put their horses where someone might sneak up and steal one.”

“You’ve got to be joking. How are we going to pull that off without getting caught?” She jangled the shackles. “Not to mention the fact that riding might be a bit difficult. How are the two of us even going to get on a horse?”

“We’ll figure that out when the time comes.”

“But the lawmen who were searching for us might have talked to these people. They might have offered descriptions and a reward. Going into that camp is too dangerous.”

Nicholas contemplated the possibilities for a moment. She was right. They had no way of knowing how long the gypsies had been here. It would be risky. “I’ll go in under cover of darkness while you stay—”

He cut himself off.

“Sorry,” she said wryly. “Wherever you go, I go.”

Glancing down at her, he remembered that he had made the same mistake before, but for a completely different reason. Last time, it had been because he wasn’t used to being half of a pair. This time...

It was because he wanted to keep her safe.

That fact rendered him speechless. The strangest feeling coursed through him, like none he had ever known—a powerful urge to protect her.

“Besides, I can take a little danger, if you’re determined to do this,” she continued, oblivious to the real reason behind his silence. “I’m not all that fragile.”

He could argue that point, he thought. She had shattered quite completely in his arms this morning. “I know,” he told her instead, brushing his thumb along her jaw, regretting for the first time that she had such courage, that she was so willing to put herself in danger.

“So what are we going to do?”

He was wrestling with an answer to that question when a new noise came from the far end of the camp. One that seemed out of place in the forest. A familiar clang of metal striking metal.

A sound that changed everything.

It was the unmistakable clatter of a hammer on a blacksmith’s anvil.